Chapter Seven. The Body in The Lobby
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BODY IN THE LOBBY
I’m waiting for the elevator when the sound of agitated voices catches my attention. After a quick bite of beans and rice to tide me over, I decide to investigate.
The source of the commotion is Claude’s sister Bernie, standing in the lobby between a pair of mismatched suitcases that Mervyn the lawyer is attempting to load onto a luggage cart.
Her contribution to the process appears to be hefting the same insulated tumbler she brought to the reading of the will, from which she takes an angry sip.
There’s a design on the side, but I can’t make it out from here—and have no desire to get closer.
My grandmother and Mrs. A are watching from behind the front desk. I sidle over to join them.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forking up more beans and rice. Since Felix isn’t here to see my face, there’s no need to pretend it isn’t delicious.
“She’s moving in.” Grandma Lainey sounds like she’s relaying news of a natural disaster.
“Where’s Bradley?” the unwelcome guest barks. “He’s supposed to be helping.”
Too bad she didn’t track him down ten minutes ago.
“Do you think she knows about the cat?” Mrs. A wonders out loud.
In all the commotion yesterday, I forgot to ask who was taking care of Claude’s beloved cat, Zenobia.
“It seems there was a codicil in the will,” Grandma Lainey says in response to my questioning look. “She gets the apartment and Zenobia. Claude was afraid she’d be lonely.”
“His cat or his sister?”
My grandmother purses her lips, considering. “Hard to say.”
We watch Bernie turn from side to side, scowling at the floor, the fountain, the chandelier, and finally me in my towel.
“How am I supposed to live like this?” she demands. “You don’t even have a concierge.”
“Bummer,” my grandmother says insincerely. I choke on a mouthful of rice.
Claude’s sister ignores us, cradling her massive cup in the crook of one elbow so she can access her phone. Of course she has it on speaker, volume cranked so we can all hear it ring and ring. At last there’s a beep, followed by a recorded message:
“It’s me, babes. You know what to do.”
I’m pretty sure I recognize the voice, even before Bernie yells at her phone, “Bradley! I’m waiting for you in the lobby.” Shifting so her back is to us, she lowers her voice only slightly before continuing. “I told you I don’t feel safe in this dump. You can’t leave me alone with these people.”
With a dramatic sigh, she tosses her phone into her purse.
“What do you suppose Claude was thinking?” Grandma Lainey asks.
Mrs. A puts a hand on my grandmother’s arm. “Let’s give her a chance. Imagine yourself in her shoes.”
“No thank you,” my grandmother sniffs, glancing across the lobby at Bernie’s unadorned flats. She’s never been a believer in navy blue footwear. Something about traumatic memories of school uniforms.
We watch Bernie wave Mervyn toward the elevator, letting him awkwardly maneuver the luggage cart inside without so much as holding the doors for him.
“I should let you go up first,” she tells Mervyn. “In case it breaks down. When was this thing last inspected?”
His reply is inaudible, probably because he’s pinned behind a massive pile of suitcases. Bernie shoots a look at the front desk before glancing at the elevator, which must be less alarming than the three of us since she grudgingly climbs inside.
“It’s hard to be the outsider.” Mrs. A continues, as the elevator begins its ascent. “We shouldn’t judge by first impressions. This is Claude’s sister we’re talking about. She might have hidden depths.”
“She refused to speak to her only brother for decades,” my grandmother reminds her. “I’d hate to see her go lower than that.”
“Then maybe she’ll grow and change.” For someone who devotes most of her free time to thinking about violent crimes, Mrs. A has a surprisingly optimistic worldview. “Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” she says, turning to me. “Where’s Felix?”
“I’m not sure.” I have a pretty good guess he’s still at the pool, but I don’t want to encourage the idea that I’m plugged into his every move. It sounds a little obsessed, when I’m going for more of a casually keeping tabs on a potential rival vibe. “Why?”
“Because that smells like what he was cooking,” she replies, nodding at the mostly empty bowl in my hands.
Damn. These people don’t miss a trick. “I saw him earlier. At the pool.” The words are so stiff it could be a witness statement: It was Felix, by the pool, with the beans and rice.
“I was there first,” I add, trying to make it clear we didn’t meet there on purpose and instead coming across like a whiny child.
“I see.” Mrs. A studies my face for several excruciating moments. I feel myself blushing, and I know she can tell, but I can’t let her crack my composure that easily.
The elevator dings, and Mervyn exits, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. His sage-green bow tie is askew.
“She didn’t want me to come inside,” he explains, before we can ask.
Mrs. A sucks in a shocked breath. “Not even for a glass of water?” Hospitality is one of her core values, right up there with the importance of lip liner.
“Still think she’s hiding a heart of gold?” Grandma Lainey teases.
“Well.” After a drawn-out pause, Mrs. A steps out from behind the counter, heading for the plush seating area near the front door. “Moving is stressful.”
“Indeed,” my grandmother agrees, joining her. “Which begs the question of why she decided to rehome herself, when she obviously doesn’t like it here.”
“She might want to feel close to her brother,” Mrs. A says, without much conviction. “Or else she’s having her floors redone and needed a place to stay. Maybe they’re fumigating her building.”
“So she decided to infest our home instead?”
“It’s only temporary,” Mrs. A starts to say, breaking off when Mervyn clears his throat.
My grandmother’s eyes narrow. “Yes?”
Instead of answering, he plucks at his bow tie. My grandmother and Mrs. A exchange a speaking look.
“You seem troubled, Mervyn.” Grandma Lainey pats the seat next to hers. “Why don’t you rest a minute?”
“Tea?” Mrs. A offers. “We have some lovely snickerdoodles in the kitchen.”
Poor Mervyn. There’s no way he’s getting out of here without telling them everything they want to know. He seems to realize the same thing. His shoulders sag as he settles onto the upholstered chair between them.
“You didn’t hear it from me,” he warns.
“Discretion is our middle name,” Grandma Lainey promises. Mrs. A sketches a cross over her heart.
“She has to live here,” Mervyn whispers. “For at least three months. Otherwise, Claude’s apartment reverts to the building association.”
My grandmother sits back, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that interesting.”
“Lainey,” Mrs. A warns. “We have to respect Claude’s wishes. He must have had a reason for wanting her here, and we owe it to him to help. No sabotage or trying to drive her away.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anything dangerous,” my grandmother protests.
“We’ll do our best to bring her into the fold,” Mrs. A assures Mervyn, before Grandma Lainey can incriminate herself.
“I’m sure once we get to know each other, we’ll find common ground.
Oh!” She bounces in place, hands clasped in front of her.
“We can start by planning a special welcome to the Castle Claude family.”
Mervyn looks dubious but offers a polite smile.
“What up ladies?” a booming voice calls across the lobby. I flinch, wishing I’d had a chance to put clothes on before seeing Bradley again. Mervyn looks even more spooked than I feel, though he has the advantage of being fully dressed.
“Your aunt was looking for you,” Mrs. A says pleasantly.
“Actually, she’s my stepaunt,” Bradley corrects. “Miss B was with my dad’s brother for a couple of years, but that was like a second marriage. You know?”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” my grandmother replies less pleasantly.
“She went up already?” Bradley asks, oblivious.
Mrs. A nods, and we all wait for him to press the elevator button—or take the stairs if he needs more cardio—but he’s too busy checking his phone.
“I gotta run,” he informs us. “You can tell her I need to see my dad. Strike while the iron is hot.” The last part is directed at Mervyn, as if he’s a secretary instead of a lawyer.
I’m surprised he doesn’t tell Bradley to deliver his own messages, but he just looks pained.
Maybe he threw his back out playing bellhop.
“Sure you don’t want to go for a ride?” Bradley points at me, like we both know I want to say yes, because who wouldn’t?
“No, thank you.” I immediately regret the “thank you,” because the last thing I’m feeling is gratitude.
“The door is that way.” Grandma Lainey gestures with her chin.
“Later,” Bradley tosses over his shoulder, as he saunters off.
“Preferably not,” my grandmother says, watching the revolving door spit him onto the sidewalk. “I’m getting a strong aroma of Ponzi scheme.”
“I think that might be his cologne,” Mrs. A quips.
I see no reason not to pile on. “He told me this place could be like the Playboy Mansion. With a few upgrades.”
“Over my dead body.” Grandma Lainey knocks on the wooden coffee table, just in case, before turning her attention to me. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Virginia? About the so-called nephew. If that’s what he is.”
“You think he’s an impostor?” Although why would Claude’s sister invent a nephew? It’s not like Bradley inherited anything.
“More like a paid companion,” my grandmother says.
Mrs. A perks up. “Are there still gigolos? I thought they might have gone out of fashion, like women’s hats. Or blue eye shadow.”
“Whoever he is, if he crossed a line…” my grandmother trails off, dragging a fingernail across her neck.
“We’ll end him,” Mrs. A confirms, in her sweet voice.
I nod my appreciation for their support, including the death threat I’m 95 percent sure they mean metaphorically.
Part of me is tempted to say, Yes, please!
Ban him from the premises. But Bradley seems like a problem I should be able to handle—especially here at Castle Claude.
My grandmother has always treated me like a competent, rational human being, and I try to live up to that image.
As opposed to the message I get at home, which is heavy on, Are you sure?
And You know your prefrontal cortex won’t finish developing until your early twenties.
“I’m good,” I tell them, glancing away as the sound of whistling drifts into the lobby.
Mrs. A sucks in an excited breath. “Is that Felix?” she asks me in a conspiratorial whisper.
“No idea,” I lie as he appears at the other end of the lobby.
“What did I miss?” Felix asks, wandering over with his tote bag on his shoulder.
“Nothing,” I answer, a shade too quickly. He doesn’t need a recap of the latest development with Claude’s sister, or anything else. Knowledge is power, and you never know when you’re going to need a bargaining chip—or something to lord over someone, just for fun.
Felix sniffs the air. “I take it your guy was here.”
Mrs. A glances from him to me like she’s watching a captivating Ping-Pong match.
“Let me guess, he had to go lift something heavy?” Felix raises an arm to kiss his bicep.
I try not to feel betrayed when my grandmother and Mrs. A laugh as if he’s the most adorable person ever.
“Did you know she had a thing for big muscles?” he asks Grandma Lainey, as if they’re old friends.
“I think not,” she counters. “Her last beau was an unprepossessing physical specimen. He had the chin of an embezzler.”
“Good at math, though.” It’s not clear which of us Mrs. A is trying to console.
Felix snorts, which he should be embarrassed about but probably isn’t, since everyone is too busy being entertained by my sad dating history.
I must have been wrong before, imagining he was working up to asking me out.
Thank goodness I didn’t let on that I was having a delusional episode, because Felix would never have let me live that down. I tell myself I’ve dodged a bullet, a knife, and a poison-tipped blow dart all rolled into one.
There’s no reason to feel even the slightest bit disappointed about that.